The chamber door screamed.
Metal.
Bolts.
Pressure.
Every piece of it strained as something—
someone—
threw their entire body weight at it from outside.
A deafening clang.
Then another.
Then—
"ELLEANORE—OPEN YOUR EYES—PLEASE—LOOK AT ME—!"
Horace.
Hearing him—
that voice breaking—
sent a shock through me stronger than any suppressant could quiet.
My fingers twitched weakly on the floor.
I tried to lift my head.
Just a little.
My vision swam in and out, blurry, pulsing with heat.
"Hor…ace…"
His name slipped out of me like instinct, like breath, like begging.
Another slam shook the chamber.
This time—
the metal dented inward.
The entire left side of the frame bent.
I flinched as heat-shock rolled through me again, twisting low in my stomach, forcing my breath into short, pained gasps.
My nails scraped weakly across the tile.
"Horace… I—can't—"
The door buckled.
Screws shot across the room.
The lights flickered violently—
and then, with a brutal metallic scream—
the outer lock snapped.
A rush of warm air hit my skin.
Footsteps.
Multiple.
Heavy.
Fast.
Voices layered over each other:
"Get back—move—"
"Horace—wait—!"
"Lucian, shut the grid down—NOW—!"
My heart stuttered.
They were here.
All of them.
My body trembled uncontrollably.
Heat surged in waves, pushing me further toward collapse.
But instinct—
instinct recognized them.
Recognized him most of all.
Horace's scent—
sharp, warm, focused—
bled through the doorframe in thin threads.
Barely there.
But enough.
My breath hitched.
My chest loosened for the first time in hours.
"Horace…"
I didn't even realize I'd said it aloud until the banging on the door stopped—
and a breathless voice answered through the crack in the metal:
"Elle—
I'm here—
don't close your eyes—please—"
His voice was shaking.
Horace—
cold, stoic, perfect-prince Horace—
was shaking.
My eyes blurred again.
I reached out toward the door.
My arm trembled violently.
I barely made it halfway before it dropped to the floor again.
Another wave of heat tore through me.
I gasped, curling inward as instinct twisted under my ribs with harsh, aching urgency.
"I—can't—"
The door groaned.
Horace struck it again.
And again.
And again.
Until—
CRACK—
The final bolt snapped.
The door flew inward.
Horace stumbled into the chamber, nearly falling to his knees.
And when he saw me—
everything in his body broke at once.
"Elle—"
His voice cracked open.
"Oh god—"
He rushed to me so fast the air stirred around him, dropping beside me with no care for his own injuries.
His hands hovered first—
shaking—
as if he didn't know where he was allowed to touch me.
Then instinct took over.
Horace cupped my face gently, lifting it just enough for my eyes to meet his.
His voice fell into a whisper, raw and trembling:
"Look at me. Please… look at me."
I tried.
My vision swam.
Blurred.
Split into colors.
But for a moment—
a fragile, flickering moment—
I saw him.
Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.
Blood smeared down his arm.
His breath tore from him in shallow gasps.
And his eyes—
they were terrified.
"Horace…"
My voice cracked.
"It…hurts…"
He touched his forehead lightly to mine, grounding me with the warmest, gentlest point of contact I'd felt in days.
"I know," he whispered.
"I know. I'm here now. It's okay. It's okay, Elle—just breathe—"
A sound slipped out of me—
weak
broken
instinctive.
My hands shook as they curled into his shirt, gripping it with faint strength.
Horace inhaled sharply at the contact.
Then—
he gathered me into his arms.
Carefully.
Slowly.
As if I were made of something fragile.
My cheek pressed to his chest, skin burning against his warmth.
His scent—
real, unfrozen, unfiltered—
hit me like a wave.
Everything in me arched toward it.
So warm.
So grounding.
So impossibly familiar.
A soft whimper fell from my lips.
Horace tightened his hold, voice breaking:
"I'm here—I've got you—I swear I won't let you go—"
Another wave of heat hit me.
This one harder.
It slammed through me so violently my entire body jerked.
My breath caught.
I curled instinctively against him—
seeking warmth,
seeking safety,
seeking him.
"Horace—
I—I can't—
I can't stop—"
He held me tighter, but still gentle.
"You don't have to stop. Just breathe with me. Just stay awake—"
A gasp tore from me as instinct spiraled out of control.
My chest pressed to his.
My fingers clawed weakly at his shirt.
Heat-shock.
Horace felt it too—
I saw the panic flash across his eyes.
"Elle—"
He cupped my cheek again, guiding my gaze to him.
"You listen to me—stay here—stay with me—"
But my body was slipping.
"I—it's too much—"
"I know," he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.
"Let me hold you. Let me take it. Let me—"
The chamber's broken speaker sputtered overhead:
"Prime heat—stage three—shock—shock—"
Horace snarled up at the ceiling—pure, feral instinct blazing.
"SHUT UP!"
And the system—
as if startled—
went silent.
CUT TO — OUTSIDE THE CHAMBER: ROWAN FEELS HER
Rowan staggered into the doorway just as Horace gathered me in his arms.
His knees buckled.
Chandler caught him by the waist.
"Rowan—slow down—!"
But Rowan's eyes—glassy but wide—locked onto me instantly.
And he felt it.
The heat-shock.
The pain.
The instinct.
"She's—she's collapsing—" Rowan gasped.
"We—we need to—"
His legs gave out.
Chandler lifted him without hesitation, pulling him close in a firm, protective hold.
"It's okay—I've got you—don't push—"
Rowan shook his head, tears forming in his eyes.
"N-no—she needs us—Chandler—please—let me—"
Chandler swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight.
He leaned his forehead to Rowan's temple.
"I know. But if you collapse again, you won't reach her at all."
Rowan clung to Chandler's shirt, breath shaking.
"Horace is holding her but—
she's calling—
she's calling for—us—"
Chandler went still.
Then he looked up.
At the sight inside the room:
Horace on the floor, holding me against his chest—
my small, shaking body curled desperately into him,
his own hands trembling as he tried to keep me conscious.
Chandler's throat worked.
"We're coming," he whispered.
Rowan nodded weakly.
They stepped inside the room.
CUT TO — HORACE, STILL HOLDING HER
Horace's hand stroked trembling fingers along my hair, his touch so achingly gentle my chest hurt.
"Stay awake—look at me—please—Elle—don't slip—"
My breath hitched again.
Another surge.
I clutched him tightly, a broken sound escaping my mouth.
His voice shattered.
"Lucian—SHE'S GOING DOWN—"
Lucian rushed toward the door, eyes widening.
"Horace—keep her upright—don't let her curl too tight—heat-shock will shut her down—"
Horace adjusted me immediately, lifting my head against his shoulder.
My cheek pressed to his throat.
His scent hit me again—
and instinct answered violently.
My breath came faster.
My fingers tugged at him without thought.
A soft, helpless sound slipped from my lips.
Horace inhaled sharply.
Then he wrapped both arms around me again, grounding me with slow, steady, anchoring breaths.
"It's okay—
it's okay—
you're not alone—
I'm right here—"
CUT TO — ROWAN AND CHANDLER JOINING IN
Rowan slid from Chandler's arms to the floor as gently as a falling feather.
He crawled the last foot toward us on trembling hands, eyes glassy with pain and instinct.
"Elle…"
His voice broke entirely.
"She's—hurting—she's—she needs—"
Chandler knelt behind Rowan, holding him steady before he fell.
His eyes—usually fiery, confrontational—softened in a way I had never seen.
A quiet, protective Alpha gaze.
"We're here. All of us."
Rowan leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Elleanore… please… open your eyes…"
My eyelashes fluttered.
A tiny response.
Horace held me tighter, whispering into my hair:
"She hears you. Keep talking."
Rowan reached out, fingers hovering uncertainly—
then gently brushed the back of my hand.
My breath hitched.
Another surge hit me—hard.
My body curled forward instinctively—
toward Horace's scent,
toward Rowan's warmth,
toward safety.
Horace tightened his hold to steady me.
Rowan let out a soft gasp as the feedback hit him.
"She's—she's slipping—Chandler—"
Chandler slid closer, placing one large, steady hand at the small of my back—
not overstepping,
not crowding—
just giving stability.
The sudden support made my breath ease just enough.
All three of them froze.
Horace whispered, stunned:
"She calmed."
Rowan's breath shook.
"It's—
it's us."
Chandler murmured:
"She needed all of us."
I didn't hear any of it.
I only felt—
warmth.
Scent.
Touch.
Safety.
My body—fighting and burning and collapsing—leaned into all of it.
And then—
my breath stopped.
Just for a moment.
Rowan choked on a sob.
"Horace—CHANDLER—SHE'S—"
Horace pulled me into his arms fully.
"ELLEANORE—
DON'T—
DON'T YOU DARE—"
My vision went white—
and consciousness slipped.
When the World Holds Its Breath
For one terrifying second—
everything inside me went quiet.
Not calm.
Not soothed.
Just…
silent.
My breath stalled in my lungs.
My vision washed white, like someone had drawn a curtain over the world.
The ache in my chest—so overwhelming moments ago—simply vanished.
And instinct—the wild, urgent drive that had been clawing through my bones—
fell utterly still.
I fell against Horace's chest, limp.
As if my own body had finally stopped fighting.
As if it had given up.
HORACE BREAKS
"Elle?"
Horace's voice cracked instantly.
No answer.
He shook me gently—too gently, like he was afraid to hurt me—before panic slammed into him like a landslide.
"Elleanore—
Elle—
Elle—LOOK AT ME—!"
My head lolled to one side, hair falling across my eyes.
Horace's hands shook so violently he could hardly brush it away.
His breath turned sharp—
too fast—
too shallow—
hyperventilation right on the razor edge of a panic attack.
"No—no—no—NO—"
His voice rose, breaking.
"Elle, please—Elle, PLEASE—!"
He pressed his ear to my chest.
Listened.
Heard nothing.
Not at first.
His entire body froze.
"Lucian—"
His voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Lucian, I—I can't—she's—"
Rowan let out a soft, broken sound behind him.
Chandler swore under his breath.
Lucian moved fast.
"Horace. Look at me."
Horace didn't.
"HORACE—LOOK AT ME."
Horace jerked his head up.
His pupils were blown wide.
He looked like a cornered animal.
Lucian spoke sharply, firmly.
"She's not gone. She's in heat-shock collapse.
We still have time.
But you need to LET US WORK."
Horace shook his head.
"I can't—
I can't lose her—"
Rowan's voice cracked from behind:
"You won't—
you won't—Horace, she needs you—don't break—don't leave—"
Rowan's hands trembled as he pressed them to the floor, trying to move closer.
But Chandler held him steady with one arm.
Horace clutched me tighter, voice thick with fear.
"She—she stopped—she's not breathing right—"
Lucian knelt beside them.
"Horace. Listen carefully.
If she goes deeper into shock, she won't come back.
We need to anchor her.
All three of you."
Horace swallowed hard.
"All—three—?"
Lucian nodded.
"She needs scent stabilization.
Touch.
Warmth.
A triangulated anchor."
Rowan's breath hitched.
Chandler's jaw tightened.
Horace looked at them both—
raw, desperate, terrified—before whispering:
"Help me.
Please."
ROWAN INSTINCTIVELY ANSWERS
Rowan crawled forward despite his shaking limbs.
He was pale.
Barely standing.
Barely conscious.
But the moment he touched my arm—
he inhaled sharply.
His eyes widened in recognition.
He whispered:
"I… I can feel her.
She's—
she's fading—
she's cold—"
Horace shook his head violently.
"No—no she's burning—she's scorching—she's—"
"That's what it feels like," Rowan whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks.
"When an omega collapses.
They feel hot on the outside—
but inside…"
He pressed his palm gently to my chest.
"…they go cold."
Horace's breath shattered.
He pulled me closer, desperate to share warmth.
Rowan inched closer, leaning his forehead against my shoulder.
Soft.
Shaking.
Gentle.
"Please come back," he whispered to me.
"We're here. We're all here."
CHANDLER TAKES CONTROL
Chandler moved in last.
Slow.
Careful.
Respectful.
He knelt behind Rowan, one hand steadying Rowan's back, the other reaching toward me.
But he paused.
He looked at Horace.
"May I?"
Horace hesitated—
instinct clashing with fear—
before giving a small, broken nod.
Chandler exhaled once—
steady, grounding—
and placed his warm, callused palm at the base of my spine.
My body reacted instantly.
A small twitch.
So faint most wouldn't see it.
But all three boys froze.
Horace whispered:
"She felt that.
She—felt—Chandler—"
Lucian nodded sharply.
"Good. Good. Hold positions.
Keep your scents steady.
Slow exhales.
Anchor her."
Chandler lowered his head beside Rowan's, his voice low and steady.
"Elleanore.
You're safe.
We've got you.
You're not alone."
His palm slid slightly, giving pressure—
not intimate,
not inappropriate,
just grounding.
Warm.
Real.
Rowan pressed closer against my shoulder, breath warm against my neck.
"Elle… please…"
Horace cupped my cheek gently with one shaking hand, thumb brushing my skin.
"Elle… please open your eyes for me…"
ELLEANORE — FADING
Everything was soft.
Muted.
Distant.
Like I was underwater.
Voices reached me as muffled echoes.
Warmth bled into me from points of contact—
forehead, spine, shoulder, chest.
I wanted to move.
To breathe.
To respond.
But heat-shock wrapped around my lungs like a tight band,
squeezing,
holding,
blocking instinct and thought alike.
My chest rose shallowly.
Then stopped.
A moment.
Too long.
Too quiet.
I drifted.
HORACE — BREAKS HIS OWN INSTINCT
Horace panicked.
Deep.
Animal.
Instinctual panic.
He lifted my face with both hands, pressing his forehead harder to mine.
"ELLEANORE—BREATHE—
PLEASE—BREATHE—"
Nothing.
He turned, wild-eyed, to Lucian.
"Tell me what to do—
TELL ME HOW TO SAVE HER—"
Lucian swallowed hard.
"Horace.
You need to scent-anchor her.
All three of you must.
Now."
Chandler inhaled sharply.
Rowan looked terrified.
Horace froze.
"You mean—
your scent will override the shock," Lucian explained.
"All three scents together.
She needs familiarity.
Safety.
Warmth."
Horace stared at me, trembling.
"I'll do anything," he whispered.
"Anything—just—bring her back—"
THE THREE OF THEM MOVE AS ONE
Lucian positioned them with rapid gestures.
"Rowan—on her left.
Chandler—behind, supporting her spine.
Horace—front, hold her chest upright.
Lean in—slow.
Exhale.
Steady and warm."
They followed immediately.
Rowan pressed his cheek to mine, breath warm against my temple.
"Elle… please stay…"
Chandler supported my back, his chest pressed gently against my spine—
solid, steady warmth.
"Elleanore… you're okay… we've got you…"
Horace cupped my face in both hands, forehead against mine.
"Please… come back to me…"
They breathed—
slow
synchronized
intimate only in instinct
not in act.
Three scents converged.
Heavy cedar.
Soft citrus.
Warm musk.
And beneath all of them—
mine.
Flickering.
Weak.
But there.
ELLEANORE — RETURNING
The darkness pulsed.
Something warm seeped through it.
Then another warmth.
Then another.
Like three different anchors pulling at me.
Calling me.
"Elleanore…"
"Elle…"
"…we're here."
My chest twitched.
Air brushed my lips.
Then—
a violent inhale tore through me.
My lungs filled too fast.
My eyes flew open on reflex.
The world snapped back into focus—
Horace's face inches from mine, eyes red, breath trembling.
Rowan crying quietly beside me.
Chandler's firm hand at my back.
Lucian exhaling in relief.
I coughed sharply, gripping at Horace's shirt with trembling fingers.
His eyes widened.
"Elle—? Elle!"
A choked gasp left my throat.
"It—hurts—"
My voice cracked painfully.
Horace pulled me into his chest, holding me fiercely.
Shaking.
Breathing hard.
"I know—I know—
I'm here—I'm right here—
you're okay—
you're okay now—"
Rowan pressed a hand to my arm, voice shaking.
"You scared us—
you scared us so much—"
Chandler leaned closer, grounding me with his steady presence.
"You're safe now.
We won't let you go again."
Heat still burned inside me—
relentless
suffocating
demanding—
but I could breathe again.
My heart beat.
Their warmth surrounded me.
And for the first time—
I wasn't fighting alone.